


the things that make you feel at ease

by watsoff



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, M/M, Post-Fight, Texting, They're bad at talking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-19
Updated: 2016-01-19
Packaged: 2018-05-14 23:19:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5762797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/watsoff/pseuds/watsoff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As much as shouting, doing anything or saying just something, proved a release, it left John feeling like he was growing a tumour in his chest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the things that make you feel at ease

**Author's Note:**

  * For [seaworn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seaworn/gifts).



> This is sort of like a "sorry for freaking out about long-term stuff the other night" -thing to my dear gianfrancesco.
> 
> Also my very first bit that I've published in the fandom!

Sherlock was, yet again, out on a walk. Buying coffee for someone in his homeless network, looking at London from a rooftop, or in a cab frantically texting Molly, John supposed. They had had one of their rows, third one this week, and Sherlock had walked up and slammed the door behind him. John wished his gloves were in the pocket of his coat.

 

They’d begun when John returned from the shops and Sherlock found he had forgotten to buy coffee. As usual, he had called John an idiot, and in return John had called him lazy and an egocentric arsehole when he discovered the unpaid electric bill under Sherlock’s animal blood samples. They’d both been right of course, but the stagnation that was so ill-fitting for both of them poured out into hour and a half of shouting.

 

John and Sherlock hadn’t had a case in weeks. Mycroft hadn’t paid a visit (lucky him), Harry hadn’t texted, and Molly was able to supply Sherlock only a phone number of a veterinarian she once dated. The dullness was wearing them both out; Sherlock was putting up walls and John was growing irritative. They’d found the outlet five days ago. As much as shouting, doing anything or saying just something, proved a release, it left John feeling like he was growing a tumour in his chest.

 

He thought they used to be better together. The other’s company used to be more than enough to pass the day. They’d spend any day perfectly content in bed with each other, some tea, the newspaper, and John’s laptop. Mostly with each other - John had broken his record in separate times of having sex in a day with Sherlock in the early days. Now, it had been five weeks since the last time they had shared a touch with further intentions. Fearing he would be edging too close to approaching unwantedly, John had tried to keep his touches casual. Friendly.

 

With a mug in his right hand and telephone in the left, John lingered by the living room window. Sherlock’s finger marks were on the glass next to the window pane.

 

**TXT to GREG L. from JOHN WATSON**

You heard from Sherlock? 

 

**TXT to JOHN WATSON from GREG L.**

Aside from the whining for a case? Sry, mate :-(

 

**TXT to GREG L. from JOHN WATSON**

No problem. Let me know if you hear from him?

 

**TXT to JOHN WATSON from GREG L.**

Of course. You shuld call him urself, you know.

 

**TXT to GREG L. from JOHN WATSON**

I know.

 

John included Sherlock in his actions by reflex these days. They had grown so accustomed to having the other by their side, that every mundane thing was theirs together. John had taken Sherlock’s mug, as well, from the cupboard while making tea without noticing, and now sat down on his side of the sofa, searching for the remote Sherlock had hidden in the bookshelf. John wouldn't have it any other way - he knew they had both had their fair share of loneliness and unhappiness, but he still was a little too stubborn to admit outright that his partner leaving their home in the middle of something without a word stinged. Just a little.

  
  


\------

  
  


After two re-run episodes of The Great British Bake Off, John was getting restless. Half of the contestants had over-cooked their lava cakes, his tea was cold, and his telephone hadn’t pinged once.

 

John knew Sherlock would take his time to lick his wounds, but it was late. He had usually returned by eleven unless he had come by a case. John hoped he hadn’t, as it would’ve meant he had stormed off after someone by himself, since even Lestrade had stayed silent. He sucked in his pride, and opened an empty text field.

 

**TXT to SH from JOHN WATSON**

Will you be home soon?

 

**TXT to JOHN WATSON from SH**

Yes. At Molly’s.

 

**TXT to SH from JOHN WATSON**

Glad you’re ok. Should I wait up?

 

**TXT to JOHN WATSON from SH**

I’ll wake you when I get home.

 

**TXT to SH from JOHN WATSON**

Ok. Take a cab home so I won’t have to worry? Love you. 

 

**TXT to JOHN WATSON from SH**

Yes.

 

**TXT to JOHN WATSON from SH**

You too.

 

John came close to text Molly, too, to make sure Sherlock was there, maybe even get a hint of what they were talking about. He decided not to, knowing Sherlock would know immediately, not only because of his observational skills but because of his lucky choice of friend in a woman who couldn’t lie to save her life.

 

The texts did ease his mind, though. He did trust his husband's word, no matter what hardships their relationship was going through. Sherlock was many things, but he wasn’t dishonest for no reason. Nevertheless, the weight in his chest remained.

 

With no immediate solution to anything, John settled to having a shower and one last cuppa before bed. Hot water pouring down him always seemed to ground him; reddening skin and the stiff soreness in his neck dissolving made him feel like an actual person with a name and a body. A real person with a temper, a dashing husband, and too much to lose to not know how to communicate.

 

Feeling a bit more like himself, John finally laid under covers willing sleep to come. Sherlock would soon be returning, wine-drunk and less tense, and making the bedroom feel a little less like an uninhabited continent. They’d have to talk, but that would need to wait at least until tomorrow. Eventually John fell into restless sleep, dreaming of aeroplanes and too little time.

  
  


\------

  
  


John woke up to Sherlock curling up against his side like a big cat. He smelled of red wine and cigarette smoke, and his feet were cold against John’s bare thighs. John didn’t resist the urge to pull him closer, and Sherlock put his head on his shoulder.

 

“Molly says you haven’t ever not loved me.”

 

“Mm. She’s smart.” With eyes closed John imagined Sherlock’s face, biting his lip and eyes just slightly crossed from the wine and the long day.

 

“Ever?”

 

“Mm-hmm.”

 

“So since the very beginning, and even now?” John was now truly abandoning sleep, and opened his eyes to see the other man’s face exactly as he imagined. Cheeks reddened, peering at John cross-eyed under his lashes.

 

“Especially now, Sherlock. Always. For better and for worse, remember?”

 

“I won’t judge if you can't keep that promise.”

 

John turned to his side to face Sherlock and took his hands into his own. Sherlock was already sobering up, and he always turned rueful at this state. Not knowing where to look, John kissed his knuckles one by one.

 

“I will, though. I’m not who I’m supposed to be without you.”

 

“But you’re not happy with me, either.”

 

“We’re going through a rough patch, Sherlock,” John said while opening Sherlock’s palms and kissing his fingertips, “Not even a big one. We’re going to work it out, we’ll talk our way out of it.” Sherlock was filled with silence John knew meant that he was slightly uncomfortable but agreed. Real conversations had been so sparse nowadays, but they’d re-learn the trick to it.

 

“I’m sorry you’re bored. I’m sorry I lose my nerve. I’m sorry I forgot how to do this.”

 

John was kissing Sherlock’s wrists, inhaling his scent, memorising the moment so that he’d remember it even if everything else was forgotten.

 

“So you don’t want to leave?”

 

“Oh God, no. I love you. More than breathing.”

 

“Breathing’s boring. I love you more. Never stop.”

 

John didn’t - he kissed his elbows, and his collarbones, his ears. Breathing in the long day from Sherlock’s skin, he kissed his nose and his neck. His forehead and his jawline.

 

Shoulder blades. Knee caps. 

 

Ankles. 

 

Thighs.

 

Ribs.

 

Chest.

 

Dimples.

  
  


\------

  
  


**TXT to JOHN WATSON from SH**

Should I bring in white wine for a change?

 

**TXT to SH from JOHN WATSON**

Sure :-)

 

**TXT to SH from JOHN WATSON**

Don’t forget milk!

 

**TXT to JOHN WATSON from SH**

As if I ever do

 

**TXT to SH from JOHN WATSON**

Exactly. Be back soon xx

 

**TXT to JOHN WATSON from SH**

:-) I love you more

**Author's Note:**

> Comments would be greatly appreciated!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Dreaming of Aeroplanes and Too Little Time](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6543091) by [Iwantthatcoat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iwantthatcoat/pseuds/Iwantthatcoat)




End file.
